


The Eighty-seventh Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The Senad Sentinel Tidbits Files by Many and Varied [87]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Senslash Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Eighty-seventh Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

## The Eighty-seventh Sentinel Tidbits File

by Many and Varied

Author's disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, these tidbits aren't mine. Honestly, I'm not responsible for any of it!  


* * *

Rating: the whole range  
Pairings: J/B (mostly!) 

* * *

Tidbit #1 

Author Note: This is from a story begun fairly early on in TS history--like second season--and, of course, never finished. 

* * *

>fugue (fyoog) n. : A pathological amnesiac condition during which the  
patient is apparently conscious of his actions but on return to normal  
has no recollection of them.  


* * *

The argument was getting heated--and so was Jim. 

"Sandburg, read my lips: you're never gonna know everything there is to know about me. I'm a firm believer that a man's got to keep some secrets." 

"I still think that I should've known, at some point in this whole thing, that you were married once _before_ Caroline!" 

"I was 19, she was 25 and it lasted six months! You, by the way, were all of 9 years old! That's to give this whole discussion some necessary perspective! Now, can you give it a rest?" 

Blair looked ahead, stunned momentarily by Jim's comment--he wasn't sure what intrigued him more; the brevity of the marriage or the six years' age difference between bride and groom. 

Jim was going on. "It's been a tough week, Sandburg. I shouldn't have to ask your permission to come home, kick back with a couple of beers, and call it quits for the night. This is my life we're talking about, here! And I'm not just a-an archaeological site for you to plunder." 

"Jim, I know that, but--." 

"--If I decide not to tell you something, maybe you don't need to know it--and that's gotta be my decision to make, Blair. Not yours." 

"Jim--." 

"I don't want to argue with you about it, Sandburg." 

"Jim, I'm not just being nosy, here. I have a valid need to know your life-history. The important things..." 

"Oh, yeah?" Blue eyes glared. "And who decides what things? You or me?" 

"Obviously, you. But something like this, Jim. Man... It's BIG. Gigantic! It was a hell of a shock to find it out in passing like that." 

"I understand what you're saying. I'm sorry it had to happen that way. Just--back off a little, huh? 'Cause it's really none of your business, is it?" 

"I guess not." 

* * *

Blair watched as Jim packed some outdoor gear, awkward as Jim made plans to leave for some "alone" time with a lot of tension still between them. Blair felt angry at himself that Jim was angry with him; sorry he'd pressed. The Sentinel was so...exposed, gave so much--easy to forget that he really did deserve some things all his own. 

"I'll, uh, throw this stuff in the truck, and take off now. I think it's what I need. No job stuff, no Sentinel stuff..." 

"No 'me,'" Blair asked. "Right?" 

Jim didn't answer the question, closing his tackle box. 

"Jim, look; I'm sorry for pushing like that, man. I was out of line--definitely going beyond the scope of my brief. So to speak--." 

"Apology accepted," Jim said. 

Had he softened a little? Blair searched, hopefully. No. 

Jim turned from him. "I'll check in with Phil Danvers up at Flatiron. He'll know my location." 

"Okay, okay. Did you pack rain gear? They were calling for heavy downpours, this weekend." 

"That suits my mood just fine," Jim said, not cutting Blair any slack. "Later." He picked up his backpack and was gone. 

Blair looked at the blank, closed door, and felt immobilized. 

"Don't get wet," he said, softly. 

That had been the last... 

* * *

Banks could see the red eyes, reddened nostrils, and knew what it meant. Poor kid. 

It'd been clear for some time that Blair'd gone and gotten himself all tangled-up--soul, spirit, whatever--in Jim Ellison. Had to hurt to've sunk roots into deep, complex and irreplaceable soil and then have them torn out. 

"Sandburg... Blair--. God doesn't put more on our shoulders than we can bear..." 

Blair sat down, hanging his head wearily, eyes lost in the shadow under his hair. He lay back, pushing the hair away from his face, which looked naked, stripped to the tender bone. 

"I'm all right, Simon." He looked at Banks and almost smiled. "Every time I start feeling sorry for myself, I just imagine Jim smacking me one on the noggin." 

Simon could smile, too, at that. "You probably aren't interested in any advice from me, right now," he said. "But how about a couple of strong suggestions?" 

"Shoot." 

"Get back to some kind of work as soon as possible; keep busy. And stay someplace else for a couple of days. Anywhere but here." 

Blair swallowed, visibly. "Doesn't matter where I go," he said. Then he seemed to note Banks' expression. "Sure. You're right. I'll probably pack a few things, stay with some friends of mine." 

"You're perfectly welcome to stay with me..." 

"Nah, it's okay. I have a place I can go." 

"I hope so... But my door's open to you, Blair. If you don't know it already, I'm telling you now." 

"I know it. Thanks, Simon." 

"I'll let myself out," Banks said. 

* * *

The emptied bottle of Cuervo stood on the coffee table among burnt-out candles. Blair had fallen asleep on the couch- as he'd been doing every night, since...it happened. Leave here? No-one could make him, could they? No...the loft was his, now. Nobody could make him leave his own home. 

He couldn't leave here, not yet. 

Because Jim was more here than anywhere. Evidence of his existence still remained. His clothes, a legal pad covered with his blocky, urgent writing, his bed. 

His eyes were here--those eyes that could pin you motionless, helpless until they were through with you--they seemed everywhere Blair looked. 

Blair looked around the empty room--a mirror of his insides--and realized for the first time in his entire life that he didn't know where else to be. 

He'd never lost a friend to death. And Jim was so much more than a friend. He'd been, in the short time they'd had together, a father, a big brother, a teacher... 

The pain had broadsided Blair, uprooted him from his moorings. When did the burning in his heart and gut and mind cease? 

His mother had come for a week; no fault of hers that he'd barely been able to respond to her. But she'd made it possible, easier, for him to cry, when he had to. 

It hadn't been much; what use was crying when you were being torn apart? More than anything, in those early days, he'd been keeping faith with Jim--refusing to believe his partner could go down like this. 

But tonight had been bad; Jim's spirit too near, bringing tears where it touched. 

* * *

He woke, struggling against a hand tight over his mouth. Who--? 

Fear struck deep. Then confusion. The effortless strength of the grip was only silencing him--not hurting. The fire and the lit candles had burned out; he couldn't see a thing. 

"Shh!" The sound was sharp, commanding. "Quiet, Blair." The hand was removed, surprising Blair into momentary silence. 

"Who the hell are you!?" he demanded, yelling angrily. He could see better, now, but there were big, yellow blobs pulsing before his eyes; the picture wouldn't coalesce. 

"Who else would it be?" 

"Wha--? Turn on a light!" Blair exclaimed, skin crawling. He roared it. "Give me some light, damn it!" 

The man leaned toward the lamp, clicked it on. 

Blair did scream, then. His body was moving, mindlessly, away; just...AWAY, needing to run, escape the impossible, the unthinkable. He fell off the couch, yelling his incomprehension. 

Jim sat, looking at him impassively, even a little grumpily. 

"Will you shut up, please?" he grated. "My ears are ringing." 

He was dirty, a grimy man with blue eyes squinting at the light. The left side of his face was one aging bruise; a gash in his temple on that side had barely begun healing. His knuckles and forearms were scabbed over, as if he'd scraped them raw. 

Blair gasped for breath. "Jim--. Jim. Oh, God, Jim--. You're alive." 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jim asked, rubbing a palm over his head and a face etched with exhaustion. "How much of that wine did you put away?" 

"Jim, you were given up for dead three weeks ago," Blair whispered. "They stopped looking..." Jim's strange matter-of factness had drained the fear from him; drained everything. "After the mudslide--. You don't remember the mudslide?" His anger flared. "The mudslide, Jim!" 

"I heard it coming," Jim said. "Even with the head start, I couldn't outrun it. A tree branch smacked me in the head. I woke up, lying on the river bank, covered in mud; half-buried." 

"But--there was a search party, Jim; helicopters searching for you; men, and dogs--. Stories on the news!" 

"Search party? No, no... These were Shining Path rebels...guerillas. I-I thought they were after me... Everybody else on board the chopper was dead, so they--." He stopped, confused. "I've been running, hiding from them for five days... I came down the mountain on foot, made it back." He heaved a great sigh. "Man, I am tired. I want to sleep." 

Blair stared. "Two days? Jim, you have been missing for two months! Where have you been?!" 

Jim looked at him, brow knit. Finally he said, "I--don't know. That's impossible. What you're saying is impossible..." 

"It's okay." Blair reached out, but his hand hovered, without touching, over Jim's knee, as if he expected him to burst at contact like a bubble. So many questions, so much to say...to demand... 

"Later... We'll talk about it all, later. I'm just so glad you're--you're home," he managed. "Alive..." 

"I thought they'd come after you," Jim said. "I couldn't stand thinking about you, back here, defenseless..." 

"Nobody's after either one of us, Jim," Blair told him, keeping his voice firm, calm, though he was wet-eyed. "We're safe. I promise you." 

"Safe..." Jim repeated. He brightened a little. "I've been watching you since last night... Watching the place; I've been keeping out of sight, making sure nobody got in here. I wasn't going to show myself 'til I knew." 

Blair gazed, feeling his own heartbeat, his lungs taking in air. He lowered his head and broke down, completely, sobbing dry-eyed. He felt a hand come to rest on his head. 

* * *

A simple kind of worship, tending this familiar--and unmistakably living--body. Blair had never known a pleasure like it. Leading Jim to a shower and waiting until he finished; helping him to towel himself off, helping him into his robe; sitting him down to treat his cuts. And after, feeding him hot soup, hot tea -all in silence, watching him, just drinking him in. 

Jim was...nonverbal, not communicating much beyond animal gratitude for the food. Though Blair was dying to have all questions answered, he said nothing. The look in Jim's eye was puzzling, as if he was listening to whispers from a distance- there seemed to be a veil, a scrim drawn between him and the world. 

And there were indications that, right now, noise and light were acute irritants for him. 

Blair knew he should've called someone. But selfishly--for both of them--he decided they should take this cocoon of time. 

What if I'm dreaming this? he thought, tucking the covers around Jim's shoulders. 

Jim's eyes were already closed; Blair reached to pat his head, gently, and let his hand rest there a moment, aware of this form's solidity, its heat. If this was a dream, he refused to wake up. Not yet. Not ever.... 

He fell asleep in the chair, across the room from Jim's bed, watching over his friend. 

The predawn chill woke him, and he looked at the bed. 

It was empty, frightening him, until he registered that it had been slept in. He looked around the dark room in search of Jim, got up and crept downstairs. 

There he was...standing as if watching the city skyline, silhouetted by the terrace windows. 

"Jim, you need to be back in bed." 

No answer. 

Jim? Blair came down, approached carefully. Zone-out? 

Lynna  


* * *

Tidbit #2 

"What's wrong, Jim?" 

Blair noted the sad look in the taller man's eyes. He was sitting at his desk, the paper open in front of him. 

"Do you remember the original Star Trek?" 

"Who doesn't? 'Beam me up, Scotty'," Blair said, staring over Jim's shoulders. He read the paper, his face suddenly becoming solemn. 

"Oh, god, no," Blair whispered. "It isn't true." 

"No one is supposed to die in Star Trek, Chief," Jim said, rubbing his eyes. 

"DeForest Kelley, dead at 79, after a lingering illness requiring hospitalization for three months..." 

Blair sat, stilled by the thought that Doc would never spar with Jim and Spock ever again. 

It was the end of an era... 

* * *

RIP, Doc. We hardly knew ya... 

Helmboy  


* * *

Tidbit #3 

"Oh, God." 

"What's wrong, Chief?" 

"I can't believe it. DeForest Kelley is dead." 

"Dr. McCoy from Star Trek?" 

"Yeah. You know, when I was a kid, and I'd be in a new place, with Naomi off doing her thing, I'd try to find Star Trek on T.V., if the place had a set. It made me feel less ... I don't know ... lonely." 

"Like you were visiting friends?" 

"Uh-huh. And, don't laugh, Jim, but I always thought I'd love to have a father like 'Bones'. Someone you could look up to. A brilliant scientist, but a human being first and foremost." 

Kiss. Kiss. Deep, tender kiss. 

"Guess what, chief? You grew up to be just like 'dad.'" 

Deana  


* * *

Tidbit #4 

Blair smiled at the antics on Star Trek. He could recite the words almost by heart. "'He's dead, Jim.' I love that line. You know Jim, Simon could have used that line with me." 

"That's not funny, Chief. I could use the line, 'I see you noticed the ears.'" Jim grinned, he knew Blair was so vain when it came to his ears. Always tucking his hair behind them. 

"How about this one, 'Live long and prosper'." Blair held up the symbol for the Vulcan sign. 

"Wait a minute I'll think of one...okay, 'Hailing on all frequencies,' who says that Chief?" Jim smugly crossed his arms and waited for the answer. 

"Toooooo Easy. Uhura. 'I'm giving her all she's got, Oh, my poor wee bairns.'" Blair tilted his head to the side, with a large twinkle in his eyes. 

"Hmm, bairns, I don't remember any kids, Chief." Blair raised his arms. "Wait, your not the winner, yet. Bairns, bairns... I got it, it was Scotty, crying over his engines." 

"Whoa, I thought I had you that time. Jim, why are you looking at me like that?" Blair started backing away from the gleam in his lover's eye. "Jim, stay away from me!" 

"Who says this, Chief? 'Engage!'" Jim grabbed his partner tossing him to the floor, kissing him breathlessly, holding him down he nibbled on Blair's tummy. 

"Stop, stop!" Blair laughed so hard the tears ran out of his eyes. "Jim! Jim!" 

All motion stopped. Jim sat up and glared at this partner. "Your turn." 

Finis 

Kaci  


* * *

Tidbit #5 

"Hey, Nurse Chapel, is Dr. McCoy in?" 

"Sure, let me go get him...." 

"I'm here, I'm right here. So, what seems to be the problem, Ensign?" 

"Well, Doctor, you know I'm a Sentinel, right?" 

"Yeah, but you're still without a Guide, right? You know you won't be assigned a permanent post until you find one." 

"I know. What I need to know, though, is... how do I know when I've found him? Or her? Or, I mean... whoever." 

"Well, you've read Dr. Sandburg's original works, right?" 

"Yeah, but it all sounds so... unscientific. I mean, how am I supposed to know if it 'clicks' or not? Isn't there some kind of specific aptitude test I can take, and then have the other person take, and then we'd know?" 

"The other person?" 

"Well, yeah. See, I've become pretty close to this guy, but I don't know if he's a Guide or not, and he's about to be transferred to another research position, so I want to find out if he's the one or not before he goes!" 

"Well, all I can do is tell you that there are some characteristics that most Guides have in common, but what it all boils down to is pretty much what Sandburg said all those centuries ago. You'll just know." 

_sigh_ "I guess. I just hate not knowing. Are you sure you can't do something... to find out?" 

"Hey, Ensign, I'm a doctor, not a matchmaker!" 

\--end-- 

We'll miss you, De. 

Ann 


End file.
